


Ligature

by syntheticvision



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and Gore, Crimes & Criminals, Dark Steve Rogers, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Knifeplay, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rape/Non-con Elements, Strangulation, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:42:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24416071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticvision/pseuds/syntheticvision
Summary: No one wants to touch Steve Rogers' case file. A year after he snapped and singlehandedly brutally massacred a S.H.I.E.L.D. compound, he's been locked up in solitary confinement - just the way he likes it.A psychiatrist with a chip on her shoulder is given his case to get answers. Having dealt with all manners of people, she is unmoved by his charm. Intrigued, Rogers is determined to pick away at her psyche, bit by bit.He won't be prepared for what he finds if he succeeds.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 104





	1. Mortem Obire

**Author's Note:**

> This will NOT be a fluffy fic and there will be no redemption because I like to watch my fics burn.
> 
> Please read the tags :-)

She was all wrong.

Every bit of her. From the black rimmed glasses that covered her face and down to her sensible black flats. The ones that came wore heels, some lipstick. There was an effort the others gave to impress him that he could appreciate. Not this one.

This was her second visit in a week, pacing back and forth near his cell like she was observing a caged animal. Her interest in him made him curious. Steve didn’t get many visitors anymore. The novelty had worn off when they realized he didn’t want to talk.

These days the orderlies who shoved his food under the door were lucky if they got more than a thank you. There was always time for gratitude. That much, he would allow. Anything else was considered small talk.

Steve hated small talk.

Officer Sitwell opened the door to the cramped but tidy cell, four officers behind him, batons at the ready. Standard procedure when it came time to collect Rogers. He always came quietly. Never a fuss. But they were always ready. How could you trust someone who murdered people in the manner of how he did?

“You have an official visitor, Rogers. Therapist or some type. She’ll find out you’re a fucking maniac eventually,” Officer Rumlow chided behind Sitwell.

“Language, Officer Rumlow.”

That was all Steve would say for the rest of the walk to the center.

The visitor in question sat at a table, her back straight as a lance, following Steve’s movements while he was shuffled to a seat, his feet and hands chained. The visitor who had walked past his cell days prior was not affable like the others who had sat across from him at this same table. His mother used to say there was a touch of darkness in certain people. He'd felt it when he sat down across to her. 

“Mr. Rogers,” the visitor began. “My name is-”

“With all due respect, Miss,” Steve interrupted. “I don’t need to know your name. You won’t last long. But it is nice to meet you.”

There was no acknowledgment from her at his comment. The visitor watched the two correctional officers stand next to him before she cleared her throat. Her dark brown eyes studied Sitwell. It was almost unnerving how she didn’t look away from him.

“Is he not properly restrained?” she inquired.

“He is.”

“Then you may go. Unless there is some reason why he needs a chaperone.”

Humiliation flooded Sitwell’s face at her dismissal. He raised a thin eyebrow in her direction.

“Standard procedure. To make sure he doesn’t get out of line.”

“I won’t be hovered over, Officer Sitwell. If you're doing this for my benefit, I assure you I can handle myself.”

Sitwell stared her down but ultimately motioned to the guards standing behind him to stand down with a simple head movement. She waited until they were out of earshot before she turned her attention back to Steve, narrowing her eyes at him in renewed interest.

“Steven Rogers,” she began, pulling out a heavy file folder and placing it on the table next to her notebook. “We’re here to discuss what transpired over a year ago and then some.”

“If you want to.”

She ignored him, flipping to a fresh page in her notebook as she scrawled a word in her bright red ink in perfect block letters.

 **Dismissive**.

Her dark eyes shot back up at Steve.

“I heard you’re not one for talking. So,” she said with a resolved inhale, reaching over to the machine to press the recording button, “I’ll talk first.”

She cleared her throat before she began the usual introduction into the tape. Her name, her title and her reason for the visit. The room was warm and she rolled up the sleeves on her shirt, revealing heavily tattooed arms. Steve's eyes dragged over the ink etched in her flesh.

“I don’t like tattoos.”

“That’s why they are on me and not on you. Your last psychiatrist diagnosed you with antisocial personality disorder,” she continued, her perfectly manicured finger drawing down a list of notes that were scribbled. “I’m here to refute those findings.”

He raised an eyebrow at her reply. He’d been prepared to talk about his childhood. Or perhaps the horrific acts he’d done. This type of diagnosis happened later in conversations.

“Refute?”

“Yes,” she answered, lifting up a paper to look at the second page. “I disagree with the diagnosis.”

“And?”

“From what I've read, sociopath would be more fitting.”

He flashed her a kind smile. Sociopath was thrown around a lot. She was slowly filling the mold of the others.

“This won’t take long.”

The corner of his lips pulled into a polite smirk after he made his comment. They all had tried before to get him to talk. The mental gymnastics of dragging out his childhood to the pleading and then crying when he finally stopped talking. He’d break her too, just like he did the others.

“Perhaps not. But you have all the time in the world, Mr. Rogers. Maximum sentences will do that.”

The smirk faded from his lips. She continued to look at her notes.

“Your last visit was almost six months ago with a Doctor Jones. I understood you were making progress and then you shut down.”

“That’s correct.”

“You frightened her, from what I'm reading here. Threatened her life.”

Worse things could have happened to her, Steve thought. Dr. Jones had a nice, elegant neck. He would have loved to hear it snap between his hands.

Steve gave her a polite smile.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Steve contradicted. “I thought I was very pleasant.”

“I see.”

They were back to square one. Neither was willing to give an inch.

“How are they treating you in here?”

Steve smirked. Small talk. Because she was interesting to him, he decided to oblige her for a moment. 

“I get a good night’s sleep.”

“Sleeping through the night?”

Steve nodded.

“Nightmares?”

He scoffed at her question, a deep rumble of laughter accompanying a raised eyebrow.

“How old are you, Doctor?”

“Old enough to know that you’ve been suffering from nightmares and sleep paralysis since you were eleven.”

Steve lunged forward, the chains jingling before he composed himself and sat back down. She had not even flinched at his rapid movement. Shoes scuffled on the linoleum following his physical threat, batons in hand as the officers approached.

She put up a hand to ward off the officers. They retreated.

“Did I touch a nerve, Mr. Rogers?”

“Those records are sealed.”

Steve bit back.

Steve's charm had vanished and was replaced with rage.

“These?”

She held up a yellowed file folder. The look in his eye told her all she needed to know.

“Where did you get that?”

“I believe I asked you about nightmares, Mr. Rogers. We are getting off track.”

"I believe I'm done talking for the day."

"That's fine," she responded, leaning over and pressing the stop button on the recorder. "We will try again in a few days.” 

She motioned for the guards to come forward. Sitwell reached them within seconds.

“I believe Mr. Rogers may be overstimulated. A sedative should allow him to sleep. Double dosage should work. I'll write out a prescription for the nurse to administer.”

Sitwell’s mouth twisted into a sneer of approval. The officers pulled him to his feet, chains rattling while he allowed them to pull him away. Now was not the time to make a scene. He had underestimated her. 

Never again.

The door opened, the long hallway in front of him. He’d fantasize about wrapping his fingers around her neck before he went to sleep. He heard the scrape of the chair behind him. 

“Sweet dreams, Mr. Rogers.”


	2. Graviora Manent

His vision had returned. Rumlow had been particularly punctual in making sure he received additional doses in the past few days. The nurses looked the other day when a few hundred dollar bills were slipped into their palms and Rumlow never seemed to be in short supply.

The first dose had admittedly put him into a deep sleep but his body had gotten used to it. Now the injections made him nauseous, his vision blurry.

Steve didn’t blame Rumlow. A rabid dog did what came naturally.

But the approval had come from her.

He wasn’t going to forget that.

🔪

The redhead rubbed the paper towel across her red lips vigorously. She held out the rumpled towel in her hand and pressed her lips together for approval.

“Did I get it all?”

Flecks of the paper towel clung to her chapped lips, raw from the amount of friction she had applied. The young woman standing in front of her inspected her rosy mouth, giving a disapproving cluck of her tongue. She disappeared from the living room, the sound of a faucet turning on catching her attention before the woman returned, handing her a scalding hot and damp washcloth.

The heat burned her lips as she dragged the cloth across her mouth. It was her own fault for not reading the message. It was specified in the message that she didn’t want any lipstick - very minimal makeup. If she was being honest with herself, she hadn’t been paying attention. The amount that was offered would cover her rent and then some.

She pursed her lips together to show her.

“Better.”

The woman took the washcloth and disappeared again, the hollow sound of her heels on the hardwood echoing with every step. She returned with a bottle of wine and two glasses. There was a pop of the cork and the woman returned, pouring her a glass.

“Thanks. No one usually offers me wine. This is nice.”

“You’re a guest,” the woman explained, placing the bottle back onto the table as she took a sip.

“No one ever calls me that,” the redhead admitted. “The closest I get is being called baby and that's usually said during a front seat blowjob or quick fuck in the back of a car in some park.”

“You should aim higher.”

The redhead smiled. She did aim higher. That’s why she was here, drinking a pricey bottle of wine with a gorgeous woman who most likely didn’t need to pay for sex.

“There is a shower down the hall and to the right. You’ll find everything set out for you, including a robe. I’ll let you finish your wine. My bedroom is down the hall and to the left. Knock before you enter. Do you have any questions, Harper?”

The finally named redhead held up her glass in approval.

“Sounds perfect.”

The woman disappeared again, the door closing somewhere in the vast apartment.

Harper took her time with her wine, even reaching for the bottle to pour another glass. She didn’t want to mess this up. If she was good, the woman could become a regular. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, setting down the glass on the table. Even though she had showered before she came over, she didn’t mind doing it again. It wasn’t uncommon for people to ask.

Harper hadn’t had a shower like that since she had left the shelter. Consistently hot without a temperature dip, unlike the shower in her apartment. She made sure to scrub extra hard and sniffed her skin as she dried herself off to see if there was a faint fragrance. It was there. Barely.

Harper slipped into the silk robe, admiring herself in the wide mirror. She folded her skirt and shirt, placing them on the counter.

She padded down the hallway, stopping at the door. She curled her index finger to rap against the door, waiting for confirmation.

“Come in.”

Large candles provided low light of the woman in the middle of the bed, sprawled out on the black satin sheets. Harper had seen beautiful women before but the sight of the woman in front of her made forget to breathe.

Long shapely legs, a cluster of tattoos on her right thigh. More ink covered her arms. She was athletic, her taunt stomach on display that made Harper jealous. Her breasts were perfectly rounded. Harper wondered if it was natural or fake. If they were implants, she wondered if she could get the name of the plastic surgeon.

Harper closed the door behind her.

“Should I… should I keep the robe on?”

“No.” Came the reply.

Harper shrugged off the robe, placing it over the lounge chair off to the side. She was hyper aware that her body didn’t look like the perfect woman in front of her. She’d always though of herself in shape. Her stomach wasn’t completely flat. There was a little bit of a pudge that was beginning to form. Nothing that exercising and staying away from sugar wouldn’t fix. But now wasn’t the time to critique her body. The way the woman on the bed was staring at her made her think that it didn’t matter. It was pure lust, her legs slightly parted. Harper felt like she was invincible.

Harper was no stranger to appreciating a woman’s anatomy. She climbed onto the bed, the mattress firm as she swung her other leg up on the mattress. Her hands planted on both of the woman’s knees and parted them wider.

“I’m good with my tongue,” Harper promised, her voice husky as she slid her hands down the woman’s thighs, leaning down to taste her.

🔪

Harper had a sweet mouth. It took the edge off, having her plump lips suck at her clit. Harper’s legs were parted, her fingers fucking herself. She probably shouldn’t have allowed it but there would be time to go over what was allowed and what wasn’t later.

She pulled Harper’s hair at the root to keep her steady, where she wanted her to stay. Tomorrow she would see how Steve appreciated her show of strength. Maybe he’d learned his lesson.

Harper let out a warble of pleasure, her hips bucking slightly against her fingers.

“Stop.”

Harper lifted her head, her lips and chin glossy with sticky fluid. The woman looked angry.

“Leave.”

Harper was immediately contrite. She wiped her mouth, her green eyes wide with surprise.

“I can still -”

“No. Change your clothes and leave.”

Harper hung her head, getting off the mattress, defeated. She hadn’t touched herself in so long and she couldn’t explain it but she felt safe here, even with a stranger. Harper padded to the door, looking back longingly at the silk robe.

“Come back in a few days, Olivia. We can discuss terms of an arrangement if you are interested.”

Harper froze, gripping the doorknob. So much for anonymity. She had used that name for years. How she knew her real name, Harper wasn’t sure. But if it meant more money, she could overlook it. She would ask questions later.

“Okay,” Harper replied with a shaky breath. “I’d like that.”


	3. Memento Mori

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder to check the tags as we start heading into some murky waters.

Steve’s neck was still sore from the amount of punctures it received throughout the past few days. He had received a reprieve for today. Rumlow was on his days off.

A slender finger pressed record. They were back at it again. She at least the decency to cover her arms with a long black blouse.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Fine,” Steve replied, a smile on his face. “Never better.”

“I assume the dosage was the right amount.”

“Yes.”

She placed her forearms on the table, looking directly at the dark marks on his neck. Puncture wounds from Rumlow's hardened hand.

“Where did you get those marks?”

“You mean your gift?”

“Mr. Rogers, I prescribed a sedative. If you would like to call that a gift, I would be happy to prescribe more. Perhaps up the dosage if need be.”

Steve nodded in approval. He’d make sure he responded to her cruelty in time. He just had to be patient.

“Perhaps I need to speak to the nurses about the proper injection sites.”

“Officer Rumlow has been administering my medicine.”

Her jaw clenched at his comment. Finally, a natural uninhibited reaction. She could show an emotion after all. A smile spread on Steve’s face.

“That is against policy. I’ll speak to his supervisor.”

“Sitwell? He knows,” Steve assured her.

Her gaze went to Sitwell, who was watching them and she stared for a moment, her jaw still clenched. Clearly she didn’t approve.

“Interesting.”

She went back to her notes, red pen in hand, poised to write down his next transgression. She pulled out a folder and placed it in front of him. Photos after photos of the massacre that he created. Mutilated and twisted bodies in every picture.

“This shows me calculation. Planning. How long did you plan it?”

Steve let out a sigh, shaking his head while he flipped through the photos.

“A day.”

“You led them on a mission a week prior in Tunisia. What changed?”

“Nothing.” He smiled politely.

“You led them for weeks, knowing you would kill them?”

Steve nodded in response. She would have to work harder to get the answers she wanted.

“Seems sloppy to me. Like an ulterior motive. Vengeance.”

“If you say so,” Steve answered cheerfully.

“I do,” she agreed. “Did you always get along with your teammates?”

“For the most part. Do you think I was trying to get revenge?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“It would fit the narrative for you, wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t have a narrative for you to try to dismantle, Mr. Rogers. I simply don’t have the time or the energy for that. I’m asking because at your trial, only Natasha Romanoff came to support you. You were close with Tony Stark, weren’t you? Dr. Bruce Banner as well.”

“They didn’t have anything to do with it. Natasha was there to support me. She’s a good friend.”

“Her last visit to this facility was eight months ago. Is that your definition of a good friend?”

“Yes.”

“You’re allowed to have visitors, Mr. Rogers. Why do you think she hasn’t come to see you?”

Steve didn’t answer. He’d sent Natasha away when she had pleaded for him to make a deal. She offered him a new life. A way out. It was never going to work. He liked to be honest.

“She’s busy?” Steve offered up, lifting his shoulders in a small shrug.

“And your friend, Bucky?”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at Bucky’s name.

“He’s still on the run. Leading people to believe that you did not act alone.”

She paused to let him talk.

He was not going to give her the satisfaction. Steve smiled.

“I suppose we’re done for the day.”

“I suppose so,” Steve conceded politely.

He’d like nothing more than to smash her glasses on her face. Make her bleed. Then she wouldn’t be so quick to jump in and try to bring up his past. He was proud of the fact he hadn’t lost his cool.

“Will you be upping my dosage?”

Her lips pouted into a bow before she exhaled softly. She pressed the button to stop the recording, collecting her things as Sitwell came forward to collect him.

“I’ll wait until Rumlow gets back.”

🔪

Brock knocked back another beer, slamming the glass back on the bar top. He needed this time off. Sitwell was too careful, too afraid to exact justice against Rogers. He wasn’t afraid. He’d kill him if he wouldn’t miss the small amounts of torture.

He spotted the psychiatrist across the way, sipping a beer while talking to a patron who had draped himself over a chair, inching closer to her. Another beer appeared and Brock snatched it away, walking over to her in an alcohol fueled bravado.

It would be easy to talk to her. They both had one thing in common: they hated Steve Rogers. He knew these types. Academic, cold exterior to hide the fact that they needed a good lay. Brock had sampled quite a few of them when they were frustrated over their failings with Rogers. He told them what he knew in exchange for a quick fuck. It never got them anywhere but Brock liked the release. She veered off the course from the others - unfriendly and quiet, almost as if she was calculating her next move. It didn’t matter, Brock decided, placing his beer on the table between her and the drunken paramour. He’d fuck her by the end of the night. She could keep the glasses on. He liked a little kink.

“Oh, shit,” the drunken man said, his eyes glassed over. “Didn’t realize you were with someone.”

She placed her hand on Brock’s hand, soft and gentle.

“I was waiting for him.”

“Sorry,” the man slurred, stumbling backwards.

She removed her hand as soon as the man turned away from them, taking another sip of her beer while Brock slid into the chair next to her.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“It’s a bar, Officer Rumlow. Many people frequent these establishments.”

“Hard day at the office? And call me Brock, I’m off duty today.”

“You mean Mr. Rogers?”

“I don’t know how you psychiatrists do it. The man is a complete basket case. Spouting his holier than thou bullshit after he committed a massacre. All of us would love a piece of him you know? Turn the cameras away,” Brock scoffed, his expression knitted in rage. “Just give me five minutes.”

“I believe murder would be frowned upon.”

Brock snorted.

“Are you kidding? I’d be a goddamned hero. Unfortunately Tony Stark has deep pockets. He’s untouchable. Stuck in a glass cage until he withers away.”

She finished her beer, looking at her watch.

“You want to get out of here?”

Brock downed the last of his beer, licking his lips.

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

🔪

Brock wanted to say he was right but he lost his thought when she looked up at him, deep brown eyes focused on him, her mouth on his cock, her fingers working him up and down. Every time he thought he was finished, she milked him twice over.

“Jesus,” he groaned loudly, cum spurting down her throat. She deliberately looked him in the eyes as she cleaned him off with her tongue.

“Rest,” she ordered, getting up from between his splayed legs, her naked body disappearing from the room.

Brock wanted to sleep. He was drunker than he realized when they had made it back to her apartment. His brain was sluggish and his eyes had gone blurry more than once. 

She returned a few minutes, climbing back on the bed. He groaned as his cock got hard once more at the sight of her perfect tits. Licking a path from the tip of his cock up to his chest, he realized he was going to let her do the work. She could ride him and he would pass out in bliss. Maybe he’d fuck her in front of Rogers like he did with that one pretty blond who had been all tears when Steve had decided she wasn’t worth his time.

Brock grunted as he felt her impale herself on him, her thighs cradled against him. She rocked back and forth, slow and deep, her walls squeezing him tight. He’d lost all his energy to hold her in place so he placed his hands on her hips to still engage. He laughed to himself. It was the quiet ones that always surprised him. She rocked into him harder, his head lifting from the pillow.

He wasn’t prepared for the belt that was looped around his neck. Brock gasped for air, finding the strength to try to push her off but she wrapped his wrists around the belt. She pulled harder with each movement of her hips, ignoring the small rasps of breath from Brock’s mouth. His eyes watered, the pressure in his throat overwhelming. She stared at him, no hint of emotion as she pulled harder.

"I can leave marks too, Officer Rumlow. Allow me show you."

He tried to kick his legs as a final attempt but she was strong, her legs holding him in place. Darkness began to surround him.

There was a final buck of his own hips before he stopped struggling.


	4. Alea iacta est

Brock’s eyes fluttered open, his mouth muffled by duct tape. His clothes were carefully laid folded on a chair, a giant suitcase laid out across the empty room. He was bound from wrists to ankles, his feet planted on the ground but nowhere to go, his wrists hanging from the hook above him.

The click of heels made him lift his head quickly. The psychiatrist was in front of him, wearing only a pair of thin black panties, holding a canvas bag.

“Good morning, Officer Rumlow. Uncomfortable?”

He yelled against the duct tape, trying to struggle against his bonds. She placed the bag on the small table across from him, uninterested in his violent muffled shouts. It didn't matter. It would be over soon.

“Imagine my disappointment to hear that you took matters into your own hands when you were abusing Mr. Rogers,” she confessed, her back to him while she placed her items on the table. “Thank you for giving me a reason to make sure my knives were sharpened.”

She selected a paring knife before she came closer. Brock pulled away from the touch of the back of her hand against his cheek.

“I’ll be delicate,” she promised. “For the moment.”

Her hands spanned across his chest, her warm fingers running over his pecs.

“Perhaps I’ll take these,” she whispered, her dark eyes glittering with amusement.

Blood ran down his chest at the first cut, her fingers nimbly hulling his nipples like strawberries. She was quick with her work, watching his face distort with pain as he howled against the tape, his eyes rolling back into the back of his head. She stepped back to look at her work. Satisfied, she placed her knife back into the lineup.

“Not that you will have a chance again,” she began, lifting up a curved knife and inspecting it. “But you should learn to work on your form. I did all the work last night. That’s very selfish.”

She placed the curved knife down and picked up a longer, serrated one.

“Don’t worry, Officer Rumlow. I’m sure Sitwell will be joining you soon. I’ve got another suitcase for him as well.”

She trailed the knife against his belly, looking into his eyes. Brock twisted his body, his muffled screams ignored.

“To think you could still be alive a day from now if you weren't so quick to exact your own brand of justice,” she mused, her chin on his chest, her eyes dark excitement. “Fascinating. Deliberate cruelty comes full circle.”

With a dainty shrug, she stepped back and drove the knife into his heart, savoring the sound of his last shuddering breath.

🔪

The cleaner arrived right on schedule. Normally she would dispose of her own trash but this was a special occasion. Anything that could be traced back to her was always handled by Ivan. He asked no questions, only took cash and nothing was off the table.

Ivan looked at the open suitcase, his gold and silver teeth visible. He'd always liked doing business with the doctor.

“Easy job,” he assured. “Give me three hours.”

She nodded. Ivan would almost need less but his clean up was immaculate, something he prided himself on.

While he readied his tools, she poured herself a cup of coffee, reading over her NDA for Harper. She had toyed with idea of changing the entire thing to her real identity but decided against it. Real life Olivia had more than her fair share of problems. “Harper” was a nice distraction from it. It wasn’t in her interest to remove that facade that Harper had built up for herself. If she felt like it, maybe she could even give Harper the confidence she so sorely lacked.

Ivan emerged two hours later, suitcase in hand.

"Finished."

🔪

Harper wiped her sweaty hands on her jeans when she saw her. She was prompt, showing up exactly at six like she promised.

“Hello Harper.”

“Hello,” Harper replied, wondering why on earth she was so shy all of a sudden.

“Thank you for meeting me. I have the NDA for you to review. I figured we could go over it at length. If it’s something you’re interested in then I’ll make arrangements for you.”

Harper took the file from her and skimmed it.

A waiter interrupted her reading.

“Hello, may I interest you in a drink?”

“We’ll have two bottles of your best wine, please.”

“Of course. I’ll be back in a moment.”

Harper went back to reading. A monthly stipend of $5,000. She had to read it again to make sure it wasn’t a typo.

“Five Gs? Are you sure I’m worth this much?”

Harper watched her nod slowly. Not a smile, just an acceptance of what she was asking.

“I live a very alternate lifestyle, Harper. I’m sure you’re used to that.”

Harper swallowed hard. She was used to it. Hopping from place to place, sleeping with strangers to eat and not be out in the cold. Harper liked her freedom and a 9-5 wouldn’t provide that.

Her stomach growled and she cleared her throat to cover the noise.

“You want me to move in?”

“That shoebox you call an apartment doesn’t serve you.”

Harper nodded.

“As I stated earlier, I live an alternative lifestyle. I enjoy sex but not intimacy. My line of work does not afford me any sense of normalcy. I would like to help you, Harper. Selfishly of course, as there is a benefit to me. Human companionship does not come easy to me so in a way, I’m forcing it. Not noble but honest in my intention.”

Harper continued reading through the NDA. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. It was consent through and through. Safe words, nothing to do with bodily fluids, no abuse of any kind.

“Other partners are strictly prohibited,” Harper read aloud, her green eyes widening.

“Is there an issue?”

“It’s a lot to ask.”

“I find it a small price to pay to be in comfortable quarters. After all,” she continued, watching the waiter place the wine bottles on the table. “You would still have me.”

Harper felt hopeful. There was that sense of hope that she felt again, trying her best to ignore it because she had been hurt in the past. Signing this document would give her stability, which is something that she wanted but a part of her wondered about intimacy and if they would ever get close. 

Harper pulled a pen out of her purse.

“Are you certain you want to sign?”

“Yes,” Harper answered quickly. “I want this.”

She signed each page and initialed, hopeful for her future.


	5. Actiones secundum fidei

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets an honest answer and he replies in kind.

Rumlow was missing.

Steve had waited for his usual stab of the needle in the middle of he night but it never materialized. He almost felt disappointed as eventually he had planned to kill him. After all, even Steve had his limits. Maybe Rumlow had transferred. There were enough sexual harassment cases against him to keep the prison lawyers busy. Steve has seen the psychiatrists, the nurses, the custodians at the hands of him. Spread legs, open mouths, cries of pain all because of Brock fucking Rumlow, the lowest of the low.

Sitwell came to retrieve him with three guards instead of the usual four. It was a quieter walk down the hallway, no taunts from Rumlow or a shove of the baton between his shoulder blades. Sitwell seemed nervous, opening the door for Steve to enter while he rushed over to the warden.

Something was up.

She was waiting for him like she always was, hands folded together while he took his usual spot.

“Something wrong, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve looked behind him, still watching the guards who had their eyes trained on him, their hands on their batons.

“Not my usual line up. Hasn’t been for a week.”

Per usual, she didn’t look surprised. She placed the recorder on the table. The same routine. One day he would smash the recorder.

“Your neck seems to have healed,” she observed with a small tilt of her head.

“Rumlow hasn’t been making his usual rounds. Did you tell him to stop?”

“Why would I do that?”

Steve leaned forward, stretching his shoulders while he watched the recorder. It wasn’t on yet. She was waiting.

“You don’t seem to like me, Doctor.”

“What gave that away?”

“The lack of bedside manor. The fact you had a guard stab me in the neck. I could go on,” Steve replied with an unnerving smile, his fingers tapping against the table. “Maybe we could be friends.”

“I don’t fraternize with criminals.”

“You’re doing yourself a disservice. I like to think I’m very amicable.”

“Shall we get started?”

She tapped her files on the desk loudly.

“I don’t want to.”

She straightened her posture at his denial, her full lips in a straight frown. Steve enjoyed the small rise he got out of denying her. In the back of his mind, a flicker of desire ignited. Though he couldn’t do much to her, strong willed as she was, denying her total control gave him something to do. He liked this game.

“That’s too bad. Either you stay and indulge me or you go back to your cell. I’m sure Sitwell would love to spend some time teaching you some manners.”

“You can’t threaten me, Doctor. I could kill Sitwell if I wanted to.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

He stilled at her question. Not a question someone in her profession would usually ask. He pondered on her question for a moment.

She pressed record.

“Agent Darby Collins. She was once Stark’s associate. You strangled her, Mr. Rogers. Found in her bed. Was there a romantic relationship?”

“No. Miss Collins was a nice woman. More into me romantically than I was ready for.”

“And that was a reason to kill her?”

Steve shrugged. It wasn’t but she had always begged to be asphyxiated. It just so happened that he had obliged her.

He smiled. That was all she was going to get.

“Agent Walker. Beheaded by your shield. He went against your orders,” she read, her gaze drifting up at Steve’s face. Completely calm. Like she was talking about the weather.

“I was put in charge for a reason. Walker didn't dictate the mission. I did. He got in the way."

She nodded, writing in her notebook.

“What about you, Doctor?” Steve interrupted.

“What about me, Mr. Rogers?”

Steve had enough with being nice. He was a little disappointed that he wasn’t going to be able to continue his path of righteousness for the moment.

“Most doctors who visit me are as messed up as I am. Do you have any secrets?”

“No. I’m an open book.”

Steve watched the red light on the recorder.

“Ever been to jail?”

“No.”

He was starting off with basic questions but she seemed bored already. He remembered her tattoos.

“Those are some very distinct tattoos you have. I saw the tally marks on your wrist. What is that for?”

“Every person I’ve taken life from.”

She answered so confidently that Steve leaned forward to make sure he heard her correctly. She looked down at her wrist and at the new ink.

“Come again?”

“I answered your question Mr. Rogers. You heard me.”

There was no way she was telling the truth, Steve surmised. Not this straight and quite frankly, dumply dressed doctor. She was mean but taking a life - murder - was so much more than having anger as a personality trait.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not here to prove anything to you.”

“You had five on your wrist. How many do you have now?”

“Six.”

Six. In the span of a week, she’d supposedly killed another person. Steve leaned his forearms against the table, searching her face for any sign of her lying. She stared back, no sign of emotion on her face.

“You’re lying.”

She cocked her head to the side.

“I would have no reason to. I’m just as honest with you as you are with me. There are no secrets here, Mr. Rogers. Only the confines that you place on our doctor patient relationship. You stop talking and I find ways to make you talk. This is the first time you’ve asked me about my personal life and I obliged you. One would think that there would be a modicum of trust.”

Steve sniffed, looking back at Sitwell, who was still watching him.

“Do you know what happened to Rumlow?”

“I do. Somewhat.”

“Where is he?”

She gave a dainty shrug of her shoulders, as if she couldn’t be bothered to remember. In truth, she didn’t know where Rumlow was. Most likely at the bottom of the ocean or buried somewhere in the mountains. Ivan took care of the details and she never cared to know where the bodies were stored.

“That part I’m not sure. I don’t ask for details.”

“Details?”

“Yes. I’d prefer not to know where people go. It isn’t any of my business.”

“So he transferred.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Her eyes seemed to glitter with amusement. Steve felt a twinge of irritation. She knew more than she was letting on. He didn’t want to particularly care where Rumlow was at first but how he had a burning desire to know what happened to him and deep down, he felt that she had something to do with it.

“He’s missing.”

“That’s a loaded term. If you’re wondering if he will come back to this facility then no.”

Steve blew out a breath of frustration.

“Fine. So he quit.”

“You’re very invested in someone who was trying to kill you.”

“I wanted to get to him first.”

“What a shame,” she said with a sigh, closing her notebook. “I beat you to it.”

The recorder stopped and she motioned for Sitwell.

“We’re done for today. Might I suggest another round of medication? Tell your nurses to apply the medication appropriately. I don’t want to have to form a complaint about abuse. I hate the paperwork. Understood?”

Sitwell nodded quickly, heat flooding his face. The officers surrounding him watched as Sitwell chewed on his lower lip in frustration at the command.

“Have a good one, Mr. Rogers.”

🔪

Steve leaned against the wall, waiting for the phone to pick up. He rarely made phone calls, if any at all. Only a few hours stood before they would give him his medication. The guards surrounding him were ready, their guns at their side. Sitwell hovered as Steve held the receiver up to his ear.

“Been awhile,” the male voice on the other end said.

“I need a favor,” Steve began, looking back at the officers.

“I’m listening.”

“My doctor has been so helpful. I’d love to repay her in kind.”

“Consider it done.”

“Ask for Burke. He’s got deep pockets.”

“Perfect.”


	6. Para bellum

Harper felt a twinge of guilt. She was on her fourth beer, supplying the alcohol for her friends after she had officially turned in her keys to her cramped apartment and had moved into the spacious penthouse. Life was good. She knew she should have checked in but the buzz she had going made her forget the minute the thought crossed her mind. The heavy bass in the music thudded in her chest.

Bottles laid bare on the table and she pulled herself up out of the booth, steadying her arms on the table for support. It was time to sober up.

“We’re going to another bar, wanna come with?” a friend yelled across the table.

“No,” Harper mumbled, her eyesight blurred. She was past buzzed. “G-gotta get home.”

“Let’s call you an Uber,” another friend suggested, an arm wrapping around her waist. “Jesus, you went hard tonight.”

The black Audi slowed to a stop in front of the bar. Harper peered at her phone and at the license plate. She slid into the backseat, her friend placing the seatbelt on. Her friends were also so ready to help her, even when she was a complete mess.

“Call me when you get home.”

“I will.”

The car pulled off and Harper rubbed her eyes. All she wanted was a hot shower and to sleep. It was late enough that her new companion would be asleep, as she had a set schedule. Harper let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes.

When her eyes opened, she was face to face with a masked man, his gloved hand clamped around her throat.

“Oh God,” Harper whimpered. “Please don’t kill me.”

She couldn’t breathe, his grip on her throat was slowly getting tighter.

“I’m not going to kill you yet. That comes later.”

She coughed, her face turning red.

“You don’t live alone, do you?”

Harper shook her head. She would notice Harper was missing. A part of Harper held out some inkling of hope that she would try to find her at the very least if she did go missing.

“Who do you live with?”

He gave her just enough leeway so she wheezed, coughing again while she tried to suck in air to her lungs.

“My companion.”

“You’re a kept slut. Keep lying to me and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I don’t… I don’t know much about her,” Harper admitted, tears spilling down her cheeks and down his glove as the pressure returned.

“Not good enough.”

Harper squeaked in pain, her hands trying to fight him off but he wouldn’t move. A rattle forced through her lips and he let her breathe, her head spinning with the lack of oxygen.

“She’s a doctor,” Harper wheezed, inhaling with a shudder. “That’s all I know. Please.”

He tapped a gloved finger against her lips.

“This isn’t over, Harper. I know everything about you. You’re going to meet me again in two days and you better have more information for me.”

“I….”

Her throat was squeezed again and she nodded, her face turning scarlet red as she kicked her legs.

“Two days.”

“T-Two days…”

He let her go, her tears dripping down the seat as she held her throat with her hands, massaging the pain that seemed never ending

The car door slammed behind him and she tried to open the door as he went around to the driver’s side. It was useless, there was a child lock. Harper heaved with a loud sob. She could lose everything within a span of a few days. Bile and alcohol rose in her throat with the need to spill over and she held her hand to her mouth.

The drive back to the brownstone was silent, Harper catching her attacker’s gaze ever so often before she moved herself away from the view of the rearview mirror. She shivered at the thought of what the man would do to her if she didn’t come up with any information.

The car slowed to a stop and he turned around to look at her.

“Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be back here in two days at 7 PM. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” Harper replied with a bob of her head. “Understood.”

“Good. Get out.”

She made it two steps out of the car before she vomited, her head Harper closed the door quietly, triple checking the locks before she took another step. Her heart was going a mile a minute, her throat throbbing with pain, wincing as she swallowed. Her phone’s flashlight lit her path to her room, hiccuping softly as she walked past the dark hallway, unaware of her silent spectator who watched her fumble down the hallway and into her room.

🔪

Harper opened a drawer, rifling through neatly stacked envelopes while she chewed on a hangnail. She had less than thirty minutes to find out anything she didn’t already know about the doctor, who coincidentally she hadn’t seen in the past two days. Her bedroom had been locked and Harper had felt embarrassed to even jiggle the doorknob, half expecting her to come out of her room and question why she wasn’t knocking.

Harper knew she was a psychiatrist, something that fascinated her and scared her at the same time. It was almost as if the doctor could read her better than she knew herself. She opened one final drawer where she found a business card for a prison. She ripped the hangnail with her teeth, shoving the card in her jean pocket before she went outside, trying to suck the tiny drop of blood that appeared.

The car was waiting, sitting idly for her to approach and sit down. She reached for the backseat door and opened it, sinking down into the bucket seat before she closed the door.

The car pulled away, down the street and into a side street, where it slowed to a stop. Harper felt perspiration begin to form on her head and on the back of her neck.

“What do you have for me, Harper?”

“A business card.”

The man looked up in the mirror, a sign of dissatisfaction flashing across his face.

“A business card.”

“It was all I could find. Her place is clean, there’s nothing to look for.”

“All you could find,” the man muttered. “Give me the card.”

Harper fished the card out of her pocket and leaned forward to hand it to him. HIs expression changed, a smirk appearing on his face.

“This is a start. Dry those pretty green eyes, kiddo. You won’t be dying today.”

Harper wiped her eyes with the overflowing arms of her sweatshirt. It felt horrible to go behind the doctor’s back. She was aware she could also be dead but incurring the doctor’s wrath now seemed like a much worse fate.

“How close are you to her?”

Harper didn’t want to answer.

“Harper. I said I wasn’t going to kill you but I can still break bones.”

“We sleep together. It’s a business arrangement," Harper rushed out, her cheeks pink with shame.

“You live there.”

Harper nodded, sniffing.

“Does she give you an allowance?”

“Yes… but -“

“That’s all I needed to know. Let’s get you back home.”


	7. Omnes Una Manet Nox

“You have a phone call, Rogers.”

Steve lifted his head at the remark.

It had to be good news. Not only did he rarely ever make phone calls, he never received them. There was no need to. Stark had pulled some strings to give him as much leeway as the prison would allow. He’d made a hefty donation to the prison for Steve to even get phone call privileges and daily walks outside. They’d never speak again after that he had done but Steve was forever in his debt.

Four officers surrounded him as he made the stroll down to the phones. He wondered what news he would hear. Today was his doctor’s visit and although Sitwell had been rather aggressive with the dosage of medication, he’d reacted to it well and had slept off any side effects. He was ready for another game. He hoped that this time he would have more ammunition to play with.

He picked up the phone, waiting for the dull chime. At the point, he leaned against the wall, staring at one of the new officers, who seemed visibly unnerved by him.

“What do you have?”

“Harper Paulson, mid 20’s. She’s your psychiatrist’s live in prostitute, receives a monthly stipend of a good sum of money. I’m assuming there’s an ironclad NDA. The girl is clean, family’s wealthy so I’m not sure why she’s hard up for money. Perhaps a family fall out. Didn’t want to speak against her meal ticket.”

“Fascinating.”

“I can take care of the girl.”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know. Thank you for follow up.”

“10-4.”

🔪

Steve noticed the black pumps as he approached, catching only a small glimpse before he took his usual spot across from her. He glared at the one officer who hovered near his shoulder and he got the hint, taking his place across the room with the other three. There were no files on the table today, just the recorder, her notebook and red pen.

“Shall we get started?”

“I like your heels.”

She remained unaffected by his compliment, opening her notebook to a fresh page.

“Do you not like compliments Doctor?”

“I’d prefer to finish my work. Your compliments aren’t needed.”

Steve let out a small laugh with an approving nod of his head. She pressed record on the player, looking at him as she asked her question.

“What was your mother Sarah like?”

His smile faded.

“I’m not talking about my mother. Or my father.”

“You don’t need to talk Mr. Rogers. Your mother worked in a TB ward, trying to save people from the very disease she died from. Her death was more of a blow to you than your father’s was. Loneliness seemed to fit you, didn’t it?”

Steve set his jaw, unwilling to answer her. He hadn’t seen the old file but he knew she read it, most likely repeatedly until she had committed it to memory. The others had no such knowledge of that file he had hidden so long ago. How she got it was anyone’s guess.

“What you didn’t have in family, you made up for in friends. James Buchanan Barnes, as an example, a friend who by all accounts was the closest you’d ever get to family. Even more than your counterparts, the Avengers.”

A small but noticeable tip of her outer lip caught his attention. It was an expression of quiet confidence.

“Which is why I believe the attack in Belgrade was not just a one person job. You may have committed the crime but someone helped you clean up. There’s a theory it was Barnes. You haven’t had any contact with him, have you?” 

Steve remained silent.

“Your friendship with Clint Barton is worth noting as well. He’s been off the grid for some time, not as long as Barnes. Managed to evade atonement for most of his crimes, which looking at his record, are extensive. He could have helped too, I suppose. This would be your nucleus of trust. People who are willing to look the other way for the things you’ve done out of trust, respect or love, you find them to be trustworthy and you form a bond.”

“Do you have a bond with your whore?"

She did not look up as she wrote in her notebook as she answered Steve.

“I do not confuse companionship with a bond, Mr. Rogers.”

“Interesting that a doctor would have a paid companion”

“I assure it is not uncommon as you want to believe. I like good conversation. With a sex worker, I don’t have to answer any pithy questions or have small talk. Our interactions are transactions that I prefer to have on a daily basis.”

“You crave companionship.”

“I wouldn’t define it as a desire. A preference is more fitting. I had a very unusual childhood and as an adult, this has shaped my worldview.”

“Dysfunctional.”

“Precisely. Unlike you, Mr. Rogers, I know exactly who I am. If you’re finished trying to find out details my personal life, I assure you that you’ve reached the end. It’s a pity that I’ll have to find out who your informer is and make sure he's disposed of. You could have saved yourself the trouble and asked me yourself. Shall we get back to your case?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, his expression almost angelic. Her tone had been even while she spoke, with no hint of emotion.

“Of course.”

Steve’s mind began to build with anticipation. As far as he was concerned, Hodge had served his purpose. He hadn’t expected much from the two bit grunt who had been been at his beck and call since he had been put in prison. It wasn’t as if Hodge gave him any information he couldn’t have found out on his own. It had been a test to see if Hodge would please him and like most, he disappointed him. He watched the doctor skim her notes while he wondered how she would kill him.

“Since you wanted to get personal, let’s continue down that path, shall we? You wanted a better relationship with your father but he died before you had a chance. Is that why you wanted to join the Army? Fulfilling your sense of duty would have filled the aching hole that was no doubt festering in your chest.”

“That’s an interesting conjecture.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you were trying to make sure you weren’t alone when Sergeant Barnes was drafted. Then you would have no one left.”

“I suppose,” he clipped.

She stopped the recording, eyes fixated on his own that were narrowed at her, unbending in his anger.

“It seems I touched a nerve today,” she remarked, closing her notebook. “We’ll call that progress.”

“If you say so,” Steve said, lifting his shoulders nonchalantly.

“We’ll see how you do in a few days.”

She put her recorder in her bag while she motioned for the officers to come forward to collect him.

🔪

The smell of food wafted through the air as Harper opened her door to peek outside. She hadn’t wanted to leave the house since that night she was taken. Harper had wanted to tell her, take the pressure off her shoulders that had weighed down her for days but she also didn’t want to admit that she talked. She padded down the hallway to see the table filled with plates of take out, the fragrant smell of Thai food making her mouth water.

A bottle of white wine was placed on the table and the doctor was dressed in a tight black dress and heels.

“I figured you would be hungry. You haven’t left your room for days.”

Harper nodded, sitting at the table as a glass of wine was poured for her. Her throat swole with emotion as she reached for a plate to dole out her portion. It would be easy to speak now, to tell the truth and let it all out in the open but Harper shoveled a serving spoonful of fried rice on her plate without saying a word.

Harper noticed that the doctor was not joining her at the table, choosing to finish her wine in the kitchen before she strolled toward her, her fingers brushing against Harper’s shoulder before her hand stilled.

“I’ll return around one. Possibly two. Make sure you’re awake.”

Harper chewed her food, nodding in earnest as she wondered what they would be doing. Harper craved a connection. Especially now.

“Good. Make sure you pick out a safe word you can clearly enunciate. You’ll be punished for lying to me about what happened to you the other night. Never discount honesty, Harper.”

She disappeared from her almost as soon as she had come to her. Harper downed her wine with a shiver, pouring another glass to give herself courage for the night ahead.


	8. Et lux in tenebris lucet

Hodge opened his eyes to a beautiful woman standing in front of him. The inside of his mouth was full with a thick liquid and his lips parted weakly to expel it, blood running down the front of his shirt. He groaned at the dull pain that had taken over in his mouth that radiated up to his temples. He gurgled while her latex gloved fingers gripped his chin with a vice like grip while she pried his mouth open once more.

Instinctively the tip of her tongue touched one of her canines to mimic his own that was missing, her eyes shining with amusement.

“You’re the worst kind of being, Hodge. Living vicariously through your great-grandfather to serve a man who hasn’t paid you dust,” she said, slapping the side of his cheek with her final words, watching the blood sputter down his opened mouth. “A lonely, pathetic man.”

His eyes drifted down to the floor, where his teeth were sprinkled onto the floor, pulled from the roots.

“The medication should wear off fully in about twenty minutes. I'd assure you that you'd feel everything but you won't be alive to enjoy it.”

Hodge gurgled in response. It had been surprisingly easy to follow him and she hadn’t even needed to wear this cheap dress. He hadn’t even bothered to lock his dingy little apartment when she trailed him. He’d opened the door and walked right in. There was nothing of value inside this space. People had most likely tried before, she reasoned, looking at the scuff marks on the walls. Hodge wasn’t a pushover by any means and could hold his own if provoked. She ended up having the upper hand, forever grateful that the alcohol in his system slowed his steps before the needle had sunk into his neck.

She tapped her finger against her cheek while she inspected him.

“I saw the marks on her throat, Mr. Hodge. I’m afraid I don’t have much time to give you a long speech about how much I’m going to enjoy seeing you take your last breath like you almost did with the girl you terrorized. So let’s get this over with.”

Hodge used all his strength to try to rock forward in his chair but the cord was wrapped around his neck before he was yanked back, his fingernails lifting as he scratched at the wooden legs of the chair he was bound in. She was surprisingly stronger than he would have given her credit for if he wasn’t rapidly running out of oxygen, his eyes beginning to bulge while she twisted harder, a gasp of air breaking through the blood that continued spilling down his mouth. The cord sunk into his windpipe slowly, a small dip against his throat. She took her time, pausing briefly before his fingers stopped scraping against the chair and he slumped forward.

Several minutes passed as she watched his open bulging eyes. The knock at the door caught her attention. Ivan pushed the door open, a cigarette hanging from his lips while he looked around the dump of an apartment and gave a low whistle.

“What a shit hole,” Ivan chuffed in his heavy accent. “Maybe I clean up his apartment after I dispose of him.”

🔪

Steve would never get used to lights out. It happened at the same time, every day, without fail. There were obvious things he missed about his freedom but this one small lack of control of not being able to control something so trivial as the light switch got under his skin. He let his mind wander to Hodge and if he was dead yet. Steve supposed he was by now. Only a few more days until he would count the tally marks on her wrist to see if she had a new addition.

He’d sweet talked the new nurse into letting have a few additional moments in the infirmary after he had feigned a headache earlier in the day. Steve loved the new employees. They were always interested in coming to say hello. An unlikely celebrity status in a place where he was put on display. His performance was just enough for her to take a few extra moments to apply a cold compress when he swiped her ID that was hanging from her pocket. She’d been so lost in asking questions about his time outside the prison that she hadn’t even noticed. In the morning, he’d make the trip to Sitwell’s office to find her file and see what she was hiding.

The bruises under his t-shirt would heal within a day or so. Sitwell had looked the other way when he was ambushed by a few officers while he was on his walk. It took everything in him to not fight back. He wouldn’t. Not while he was this close. Sitwell himself had questioned why Steve had not defended himself but did not receive an answer. Judging by Sitwell’s smirk, he would have her to thank for the bruises that marked his abdomen, the memory of her giving an approving nod to Sitwell still burned in his thoughts.

She seeped into his mind while he looked at the ceiling and he wondered what those perfect lips of hers would look like, parted and trembling with fear with his hands wrapped around her neck. He let his thoughts continue around her. How soft her mouth would feel against his own. His cock twitched in response, his hands stacked behind his head while he let the fantasy play out in his head. He’d have her when the time was right. He’d finish inside her while she begged for her life. The scene put a smile on his face and his fingers inched down to the waistband of his pants to appease his aching cock.

🔪

Harper struggled against the weighted nipple clamps. Her wrists were attached to the spreader bar, her fingertips pressed against the metal. Saliva dripped down her chin and down her neck, her tongue sitting at the edge of her lips while her she shuddered with another orgasm. Soft fingers caressed her sensitive flesh, fingers light tracing the angry red welts on her skin.

“I haven’t finished with you yet. Still some spots I haven’t had the pleasure of marking”

There was silence. Harper tensed, waiting for the whistle of the belt. Thin, sharp strikes lit up her skin and she shouted against the pillow.

“Use your words, Harper. I’ll stop whenever you give me the word.”

It was a whip this time, Harper realized, her breath catching in her throat. She licked her dry lips, trying to stay still so the weights didn’t drag down. She couldn’t see a thing, the blindfold blocking every absence of light.

“More?”

Harper dipped her head in a quiet approval. Three more lashes on her tender skin made her forget to breathe, the pain making her see red inside her eyelids.

Harper realized that she was waiting for her to respond and tears brimmed in her eyes. Her ass and thighs were probably marred beyond belief, the plug nestled inside her ass was vibrating and her sore cunt was dripping juices down her thighs. She could stop the torment with a single word and she knew that it would be over. There was trust established.

“Graphite,” Harper breathed, her safe word barely leaving her lips as she shifted, the weights pulling on her nipples.

Everything seemed to stop, even her own breathing. It seemed like forever until she could remember where she was. Her body was on fire and she felt dizzy. All she needed was a few minutes and then they could resume. Once she felt like the bed wasn't moving, she found her voice. 

"More," Harper urged.

The denial was swift.

“You’re trembling. No.”

Soft fingers circled her clit and Harper moaned in response.

“I think I proved my point.”

Truthfully, as much as Harper would have wanted to continue, she was beginning to feel lightheaded and her breasts were aching. She’d learned her lesson.

“Yes,” Harper whimpered.

Her wrists were freed, the spreader bar slowly removed as she collapsed on the bed. There was a flick of the light switch somewhere and the sound of running water. Harper steadied her breaths, her legs throbbing while she felt soft but firm hands glide up her calves and her thighs, a cool liquid being applied with expert precision that made her sigh in relief.

“On your knees,” she instructed.

Harper propped herself on her forearms and shaking knees. The plug was massaged out of her and she relaxed. The weights were removed and she collapsed back onto the bed, boneless.

A warm washcloth cleaned her gently, more cooling gel applied to her marked thighs and ass. The blindfold was removed from her eyes and she was met with darkness, save for the low light provided by the candles.

“You’re okay.”

It was more a statement than a question. Harper lifted her head slowly to see her, her black silk robe still tied around her middle, her eyebrow raised questioningly over Harper's tears.

“You listened to me,” Harper started, getting emotional. “I’ve never… had someone listen to me when I used my safe word.”

“Consent is important to me. I like trust.”

“You can trust me.”

Harper watched as her she blinked, almost as if mulling it over.

“One day.”

“You didn’t… did you not want me to make you -“

“I assure you that I was pleased. Let that be enough.”

She stood, watching Harper’s eyes slowly close.

“Sleep. He won’t be bothering you again.”

Harper closed her eyes, her breathing even before she slipped outside the room.


	9. Memores acti prudentes futuri

Steve took his usual walk, aware of the three guards behind him while he went down the pathway. Sitwell handpicked them to accompany him. Fresh off of training, fingers wrapped around their batons, just aching for a chance to catch him step out of line. Like a bunch of hyenas waiting for the right moment to strike, Steve smiled to himself while he walked down by the greenhouse and around the narrow path heading back up to the prison. It was a nice day and nothing was going to stop him from his plan.

A scuffle broke out behind him, an alarm blaring while whistles and shouts were heard. Steve continued on, ignoring the demands of the officers demanding him to stop. There were only two now. One had left to be a hero to break up the orchestrated fight.

“Stop right there, Rogers! Hands up!”

Steve stopped in his tracks, placing his hands high above his head.

“It’s a nice day, Officer Stewart. You don't think you can protect me even if I want to continue my walk?” Steve asked innocently.

“You know damn well you can’t finish the walk. Back to your cell.”

Stewart didn’t know what hit him. The crunch of a windpipe cracking was a sound Steve hadn’t heard in forever. Stewart crumpled to the ground in a heap, right as the other officer swung his baton. Steve dodged it with ease, grabbing it and flipping it back into his face, crushing his windpipe as well. Steve dragged them behind the greenhouse, finishing them off with quick blows to the throat. No one traveled to the greenhouse often, save for one lonely prisoner who decided it was his sole job to keep up the watering of the plants. He grabbed Stewart’s keys, whistling to himself as he went back to his cell.

Sitwell came around to do his count, watching Steve sit on the edge of his bed while he observed him. Not a single scratch on him or a dot of perspiration.

“Something troubling you, Sitwell?” Steve asked politely with fake concern.

“Shut up, Rogers. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a hand in this brawl.”

“I’m not interested in primitive inmate fights. You know that.”

“Be that as it may, Officer Stewart and Officer Baer are dead. They were supposed to be your escorts.”

Steve nodded with a raised eyebrow of surprise.

“They left me after the alarm went off. Officer Burke escorted me back to my cell.”

Sitwell sneered at his comment. Perhaps Rogers was telling the truth. He’d been signed in by Burke over an hour before the bodies of Stewart and Baer were found. Inmates reported that Stewart and Baer had run toward the scene, with the third officer leading the way. His irritation grew while Rogers watched him with a smile on his face, knowing that there was nothing Sitwell could do but simmer. He shouldn't have taken a chance on the new recruits and he found himself already dreading the paperwork and the lawsuits that would arise from their killings. Rogers, it seemed, was in the clear.

“Is there anything else, Sitwell? I’d like to take my medication now.”

“I’ll have someone escort you when I get around to it.”

Steve leaned back against the wall with a polite bob of his head.

“I’ll wait then.”

🔪

Burke tapped on his baton while they walked down the hallway. The extra money had been worth it to lose his integrity. In fact, he could probably walk away from this hellhole of a job and be fine for a year on the money he was getting under the table alone. The job wasn't exactly easy. Rogers scared him, not that he would ever admit to such a thing. Burke knew that as long as he did what he was asked to do, he was safe from Rogers wrath.

“Where are you going?” Burke asked cautiously, watching him stop at Sitwell's door.

Steve flashed a smile at Burke.

“I know Bucky pays to keep you quiet,” Steve reminded him. “So look the other way and keep quiet.”

Burke watched the ID slip from the waistband of his pants. Burke turned the other way as instructed. There was a sense of dread that filled him, even if he had enough money. If he got caught, this would be enough to put him in jail and Burke had made some dangerous enemies over the past few months as Rogers’ bodyguard. He didn’t want to know what Rogers was doing in Sitwell’s office. It was probably better that he didn’t know.

Steve left the lights off while he opened the door. The massive file cabinet sat in the back corner, taking up most of the space. Nurses would often come and go from his office to pull files. It was a weird method of control for Sitwell but no one had questioned it. He wiped the ID card to gain access to the file cabinet, the green lights blinking twice before the locking mechanism opened.

He sifted through the various cabinets, watching the massive back of Burke keeping watch before he went back to his search. A smile spread across his face as he pulled out a folder. He leaned against the cabinet, taking his time to digest the information. His eyes shined with interest, carefully turning the page to continue his reading.

Steve noticed Burke was no longer guarding the door. He placed the file back in the cabinet, locking it carefully before rolling the ID card back into his waistband. If he was going to fight, he’d have to kill again and he wasn’t in the mood to deal with Sitwell’s army of sycophants or the amount of uncomfortable sadist practices that Sitwell would administer. He’d have Bucky take care of Burke once he got around to it.

The door opened and Steve made eye contact with the doctor. She didn’t seem surprised to see him, her dark eyes narrowing at him while she closed the door behind her.

“A little far from your cell, Mr. Rogers.”

“Brushing up on some reading.”

Her head snapped to attention while she looked at the cabinet.

“I'm sure you were able to entertain yourself.”

“Quite a bit, actually.”

“Sitwell will be here within minutes. I’m sure he would be delighted to find you in his office.”

“You can watch me kill him if he makes it through the door,” Steve replied.

His gaze went down to her wrist where he could make out the additional tally mark. His heart skipped a beat. He’d been right after all. Hodge wouldn't be missed by any means but Steve had wondered how she did it. Perhaps on a different day he would ask for details. For now, he wanted to continue perusing her file and the dark secrets it held and he felt a twinge of annoyance that he wasn't going to get the chance to finish. Everything he had read he would have to commit to memory and file away for later use.

“Seven,” he remarked, while looking at her ink. “You’ve been busy.”

“Eight,” she corrected him, amusement flashing in her eyes. “I am efficient.”

Steve recounted her tally marks. Seven. Which meant that there was one unaccounted for.

Burke.

“Perhaps I failed to disclose this during my first meeting, Mr. Rogers, but I don’t take kindly to people messing with my things.”

“You mean your whore.”

“I consider her mine. Whatever you choose to define it as is your own prerogative..”

Steve watched her lips as she spoke. She twisted the doorknob while she watched him. Sitwell’s heavy footsteps were heading down to his office.

Sitwell entered the room as quickly as she opened the door. Steve put his hands in the air as Sitwell flicked on the lights, swearing to himself as he saw the doctor and Rogers.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Mr. Rogers’ escort has gone missing. I found him in here alone. Mr. Sitwell, I must admit that I will have no choice to file a complaint with the board about this behavior. A fight, two deaths and now a disappearance is very concerning. I’d hate for you to lose your job over the incompetence of your officers. Please see to it that Mr. Rogers is restrained. I could have been badly injured,” she admonished, staring at Steve while she spoke. “Or worse.”

“Consider it done.”

Footsteps shuffled behind Sitwell as officers waited to enter. She was given a path to cross, where she looked over her shoulder. Steve noticed her eyes shifting to the right before she nodded at Sitwell.

“I’m sure you know how to handle this,” she instructed Sitwell before leaving.

🔪

Steve started to mentally prepare himself for the amount of punishment Sitwell would be doling out. She'd embarrassed Sitwell once more. The redness in his face was still present as he shouted at the top of his lungs the amount of pain he was going to inflict on him. Steve hadn't decided if he was going to fight back or lie back and take it. The good nurse would be back by tomorrow and he could milk her for a little extra attention. He was growing tired of the cruelty. He should have snapped Sitwell's neck weeks ago. All of this would have been over already.

Steve was pushed past the office and down the hallway, where a custodial closet door was open to the right. There was no mistaking the signet ring on the pinky finger of the hand that was laying on the cement ground.

It was Burke.


	10. Audax at fidelis

All things considered, Steve’s injuries should have been worse than they were. Sitwell made sure to personally oversee his punishment. He had been whisked off to the infirmary to be patched up so no one would be the wiser and blow the whistle. No one believed that he hadn’t killed Burke. A fallen officer made them extra cruel, trying to exact justice that would never bring him back. With every blow, Steve thought of her and how he would repay her in kind. Even now, as he winced with every deep breath he took, he imagined what he would do to her, the small hint of a smirk on her face while she walked past him while he was wrestled to the ground was enough to make him want to break a few of her fingers. Knowing her as he felt he did, she would not make a sound, staring at him blankly while he crushed them between his own hand.

In a few hours, the rest of his plan would be put into action. From what he garnered from her file and committed to memory, the window of time where he could escape would be opening. Bucky had not hesitated when he got the message. Even when Steve went to the depths of his depravity, Bucky was there. If blood was thicker than water, in a past life there must have been a karmic bond to bind them together, something of a higher power. They fed off each other’s darkness, free to move in the shadows without the heavy weight of being a hero to the masses. That had since been tarnished when he had turned himself in. He had no desire to go back to what he used to be.

She slept on her side, her breathing even and deep while the air blew on her naked skin. There was something intimate about watching a person sleep. It was when they were at their most vulnerable, unaware of what was happening in the outside world. It was the body’s natural way of healing itself. He’d counted over twenty tattoos on her body. As far as women went, this one would be a worthy opponent when she awoke. His instructions were clear - bring her to Steve alive. Anything before that was fair game. For now, Bucky gave one final glance in her direction before he exited her room. There was much to discover in her vast penthouse and he was curious.

It was unnaturally quiet when she opened her eyes. Her gaze washed over the room. Not a single object out of place but the sense of violation hung in the air. Someone had been inside her room. Her fingers reached for her switchblade that was tucked under her pillow. She pulled on a silk robe, opening the door and peering down the hallway. As dark as it was, her eyes had grown accustomed to the pitch black while she moved past Harper’s empty room. She’d be away for three more days. More than enough time to eradicate whoever had broke into her home.

She turned the corner toward the living room, her ears attuned to the sensation of a shadow. Her blade made quick work of pressing it against her intruder’s knee. HIs blade had responded in kind, the tip pressing against her windpipe. They were at a stalemate, neither budging or backing down.

“Hello Doctor.”

“Mr. Barnes.”

“It would be in your best interest to put down your weapon.”

“Would it? I don't enjoy intruders inside my home. Even ones as elusive as you.”

Simultaneously they applied pressure with their weapons, blood trickling down his neck while she lifted her neck higher, a small cut appearing as blood appeared.

“Dead or alive?” she inquired, her eyes watching the small line of blood disappear into the leather collar.

“Alive. For the cut you've just gifted me with, I’m willing to return with a corpse.”

“Then do it,” she urged, taking a step forward, his knife making another cut on her neck.

His eyebrows knitted in determination, his breathing unsteady as he contemplated his choices. He'd want nothing but to return the pain Steve had endured by the hands of Sitwell and the guards. He could flay her alive just to watch the amusement drain from her pretty face.

“We both know you won’t. You can’t disappoint the only person who has always been there for you. You’ll do as he asks, won’t you, Bucky?”

Her lips were parted slightly, a slow smile appearing across her face as she stood still. She'd hit a nerve.

“You want to add me to your collection?” Bucky asked quietly, watching her eyes shine in delight. She was enjoying this as much as he was.

“A worthy opponent,” she answered, almost contemplating the logistics of such a task. “But I’m sure Mr. Rogers would like to keep his friend around for a little while longer.”

“I could kill you now,” Bucky qualified. “Watch you struggle when I crush every bone in your body.”

“He’s conditioned you well. You’re a good guard dog to keep around. All his praise won’t bring back all those people you’ve killed throughout the years. I know. We’re kindred spirits, you and I. Left alone and to our own devices, we could self-destruct. You never learned to be alone. That’s your fatal flaw.”

She’d deliberately inched closer, her lips almost touching his own. With a single drop of the blade from his neck to her free hand, she plunged it into his middle. He stumbled backward, removing the blade and tossing it to the side. He lifted his hand from his middle, eyes filled with rage as he inspected the blood.

“And your flaw was not seeing the needle I stuck in your arm,” Bucky countered.

Her eyes dropped down to the syringe that was hanging from her upper arm. With a quick pull, she ripped it from her arm and tossed it at her feet.

“You’ll bleed out before I pass out,” she remarked, watching him grip the wound. “All over my freshly waxed floor.”

“I’ll survive. Which is more than I can say about you. When he gets his hands on you, you’ll wish it was me ending your life.”

“I suppose we’ll never find out.”

She sunk down slowly onto the floor, her back leaning against the wall as the sedative began to work.

“Are you afraid?” Bucky asked, kneeling in front of her while he inspected her eyes, nodding with satisfaction as her pupils began to constrict.

“Not in the slightest.”


	11. Habeas corpus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we begin writing one of the most disturbing things I've ever written, good lord.

Her fingers wrapped around the thick chain that was welded to the cuffs around her wrists that were behind her back. Her legs dangled on either side of the sawhorse while her eyes began to focus. A single clouded window was above her, the chain wrapped around the naked ceiling pipes. On a small table, a set of knives were placed neatly in a row, waiting to be utilized. The dimly lit room held the rest of the room in dark shadows.

“I hope you slept well, Doctor.”

Steve’s voice came from somewhere in the dark space. With her eyes closed, she tilted her head to the light and gave a contented sigh.

“The best sleep I’ve had in weeks, Mr. Rogers. Thank you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Steve watched her open her eyes, her gaze trained in his direction while she blinked slowly. He’d bought her new black heels for this occasion; it stretched out her calves nicely while she flexed her ankle, her tattooed thigh catching his attention of a massive Grim Reaper, holding a fractured scythe in its hand.

“I expect you are on limited time, Mr. Rogers. Otherwise you would have come to me.”

“Am I? I’m sure they’re wrapped up with trying to find Sitwell’s body.”

She nodded in acknowledgement, the chains slightly clinking with her movement that was music to his ears. He’d thought about wrapping the chain around her pretty little neck once he had held her in his arms but had thought it against it. Now, watching her move, he almost regretted his decision.

“And your friend, Bucky?”

“I’m happy to report he’s alive. Though he’ll be laying low for a while. He lost a lot of blood. It will be a while until he can recover. He'll have you to thank for that.”

“A worthy opponent after all,” she answered him. “Though a little too dependent on your approval.”

“Is he? Should we delve into your personal life, Doctor?”

“As I’ve told you, I’m an open book, Mr. Rogers.”

There was a slight scrape of a chair and he appeared in front of her, clad in a pair of black pants and a white t-shirt, holding a knife in his hand. He looked bigger than normal without his prison uniform. She gave him a slight nod to continue.

“I was not surprised to read about your childhood,” Steve began, pacing around her slowly as he took her in. “It started off well enough, didn't it, Doctor? Picture perfect home until you were eleven. A home invasion in broad daylight. Did I read that right?”

Her expression was one of amusement, her eyes following his movement while he continued to walk around her. He seemed confident in knowing the intimate detail of her life that others were not privy to. Not just anyone could get that information. Her file, like Steve's, had been off limits. She'd had years of therapy, psychiatrists begging her to talk to them about what she saw. The detectives who had found her had sworn up and down that she had not seen a thing. How could she when she looked so serene when they rescued her?

“Your mother was tortured. The intruder forced you to watch.”

Through thick lashes, her eyes came alive at his expression, as a small lift at the corners of her mouth appeared.

“Did he? Or did I want to watch?”

“Why don't you tell me? That fact was omitted from your file.”

“What a shame. It appears they still tried to protect me even after all these years. Our intruder wanted to shield me from what my mother was about to experience. Perhaps it was a temporary surge of morality. He put me in my room. But I was curious. I watched the whole thing.”

"That's unfortunate behavior for a child.”

“A coping mechanism. I never knew what a functional relationship was. My parents and I were what I know now to be a classic dark triad. My mother, a Narcissist and my father Machiavellian. As I'm sure you saw, my own diagnosis as a psychopath. I don't disagree with it. I was glad to see my mother die. As for my father, I didn't need to worry,” she mused. “You and your friends took care of that for me.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at her comment. She was quiet. Observing him to see how he processed the nugget of information she had given him. When the silence lasted a little too long, she decided to placate him.

“Sokovia. He was there on business but was too prideful to leave when they were told to evacuate. He was always chasing a good business connection. He got caught in the crosshairs of your little mission with your deranged megalomaniac robot. You did me a favor. I inherited all his money.”

“Looking for revenge, Doctor? Even after I did you a favor?”

“That favor was one that I wanted to have the honor of doing myself. I appreciated the goodwill but the act of seeing him die was stolen from me. I learned to get over it.”

“That’s too bad,” Steve replied. “Is that why you found me?”

She straightened her shoulders at his question, her breasts shifting slightly while she corrected her posture. Steve took notice of how hard her nipples were and he forced himself to focus back at her face.

“It was never about you, Mr. Rogers. The Avengers were of no interest to me, originally. I was given your file because I was the only one who could break you.”

Steve scoffed at her reply, holding up the knife to the light while he examined it. Her eyes inspected the weapon as he tilted it back and forth, catching the dim light while he looked at the length of it.

“Interesting theory, seeing that I’m free and you’re in chains.”

“How do you think your friend entered my apartment? He's good but I gave him a headstart.”

“I don’t like liars, Doctor.”

“I agree. Liars are despicable. I'd been waiting for him for days and if it wasn't going to be him then surely Barton. I was not disappointed. You have me in chains now, Mr. Rogers, but those chains can easily be around your own neck if you’re not careful.”

“I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

“You won’t kill me,” she assured him. “You’ll shatter my bones but you don’t want me to die.”

He held her jaw in his hand, his thumb brushing against her warm and soft skin. He pressed the blade of the knife in the middle of her lower lip.

“You may be right,” Steve breathed against her mouth. “But I can still make you hurt.”

The knife cut into her lower lip, leaving an inch long cut as blood poured out of the incision. Her chest rose slightly before he leaned down to kiss her, his lips covered in her blood that was spilling over his hand. She tasted even better than he would have imagined. A shudder took over him while he released her jaw. Droplets of blood dripped onto her breasts while he lifted her chin up with his finger.

“He marked you well.”

“I returned the favor,’ she answered, her tongue touching the broken seam of her lip. “Is this your revenge, Mr. Rogers?”

“A small fraction. Consider it payback for my drug induced sleep,” Steve answered, looking back at the table. “I know you like your tattoos, Doctor. Do you like piercings?”


	12. Mulier est hominis confusio

“You haven’t broken me yet, Doctor.”

The chains around her neck clinked while she lifted her head to meet his stare. He liked her this way. The weight of the chains made her neck dip slightly, giving her a submissive position.

“Are you worried that I won’t succeed?”

Steve leaned forward, his arm reaching out to tighten the chain around her neck. All it took was a quick turn of the hand and it would be a clean snap. It could all be over within minutes. It was never going to end that way. He liked the control.

“How long do you think you have until they find you?” she asked him, arching her back to get relief, the sound of a crack and a pop filling the air. “Or would you prefer to live on borrowed time?”

“Time has never been on my side.”

She yawned.

“I’d like to get up now.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at her command before he smiled at her.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Do you want to me beg? That would be beneath us both.”

Steve examined her lip, still red and angry but the bleeding had stopped hours ago. He'd enjoyed the fact she hadn't screamed. It made him wonder how high her pain threshold was.

There was no way he could have predicted what she was going to do next. One moment she was docile and the next, her eyes had shifted with determination. Had he pulled back a few seconds earlier, he wouldn’t have fallen as hard as he did when her head connected with his. He stumbled back as the sawhorse clattered to the ground.

“Vicious little bitch!” Steve hissed, blood seeping from a cut under his eye as he held his head. “You can’t get out of those chains.”

Steve grabbed her from behind, pulling on the chain that bound her arms together as he held her close to him.

“I’m gonna break your legs for that.”

She moved like a cat, sliding past him as she turned, kneeing him hard in the stomach before he could grab her. He grabbed his midsection as her other knee came up and connected with his jaw and he fell onto his back.

“Ladies first,” she panted, her heel pressed against his chest.

There was no emotion on her face as the force of her heel broke two of his ribs. He strained in pain underneath her, his arms grabbing at her calf while he pushed her away turning on his side, coughing violently as he tried to catch his breath.

Her laughter filled the air as she looked at him. A dark smile rose on her lips while he struggled to get up.

“It’s only ribs, Mr. Rogers. I could have pierced your heart. Consider it payment for my lip.”

He reached her quickly, his hand finding a small space between the chains around her neck, pinning her against the wall. The pain was excruciating for now but he would heal like he always did.

“Before I break your bones, I want to know what happened to Rumlow.”

“That won't bring you closure.”

He applied more pressure on her neck and she smiled in response, a dimple appearing in her cheek that made her seem almost innocent.

“Rumlow was disposed of. Where his body is located is anyone’s guess,” she answered.

He eased up the pressure on her neck, her chest rising to take in more air while she observed him taking in the news.

“You killed him.”

There was twinge of approval in his voice. He’d known she was capable of it before Hodge went missing. The idea of her murdering Rumlow made his mind wander. He wondered how she completed her first kill.

“I dislike deliberate cruelty. Rumlow was a prime example of it.”

“And me?”

“You’re the extreme case. You think about your actions first. Rather than acting on an impulse. An polite animal, through and through.”

His hand dropped to her legs and he parted them roughly. His fingers tucked the thin mesh to the side and he smiled once his fingers reached the juncture of her thighs, warm and wet.

“You seem to enjoy my company,” Steve replied.

His fingers slid inside her. She licked her lips quickly, her gaze drifting to where his hands were.

“You possess physical qualities that I find appealing.”

Steve shook his head. There had to be more. They were more alike than he ever thought possible. Darkness drew them together. He was sure of that fact.

“It’s more than that,” Steve denied.

His fingers buried deeper inside of her and she watched him intensely while his eyes burned into hers.

His cock strained against his pants and he couldn’t any longer.

“You enjoy it as much as I do,” Steve countered, making quick work of his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

He lifted her legs high without warning, his fingers wet from her juices as he pressed his fingers on the back of her thigh. Steve felt almost drugged as he pushed inside her, the chains rattling behind her as her breath hitched in her throat. It had been too long since he’d felt the warmth of a woman. Her molten heat surrounded him and he let out a small groan against her the middle of her chest.

“You were made for me,” he declared. “I feel it.”

He kissed her, hard and seeking acceptance, his heart slamming into chest while he thrusted hard into her, reaching her hilt. Her head tilted back at the sensation, the marks on her neck visible between the chains.

“You can’t… break me,” he insisted, his movements rougher with every word.

Her back was rubbed raw against the brick, still pinned as Steve pounded into her. Her breaths that were low made him know that she was reacting to him as much as he was to her,a knowing smile appearing on her lips. While it was rough and frantic, his lips never failed to find hers. She broke the kiss, moving against his ear as she spoke in a low whisper.

“I already have,” she promised.

At her words, Steve came, coming hard inside her as sweat poured down his brow. The rush of blood between his ears was loud enough that he didn’t hear the door open until the light was shined on his back.

“Hands up Rogers! Get off of her!”

Heavily armed officers poured into the room, their guns trained on him while she looked right at him. As if she knew.

He let her down gently, his last moments watching the cum roll down her thighs before he turned around, buttoning back up his belts as the belt clinked against his thigh. He raised his hands slowly with a smile. It was worth going back. He’d been satiated for now. They pushed him onto the floor while he looked up from the ground. The chains were removed her from her neck as the cuffs were slapped onto him.

“Are you alright? We have paramedics waiting.”

“Yes,” she answered.

“We’ll get you cleaned up. We’re lucky we found you.”

“I’m so glad you’re here. Who knows what would have happened.”

The officers draped a blanket around her and she looked back at Steve, a flash of a smile on her lips that disappeared quickly before she followed the officer out.


	13. Manus manum lavat

Life had a new normal. For weeks he was left alone, no guards to annoy him or small talk from his fellow inmates. He welcomed the silence. It allowed him to think clearly and without interruption.

The absence of the doctor's usual visits picked at his nerves. To the point where she invaded his thoughts at every hour of the day and sleep did not come easy as it did previously. Not that he believed that he would ever see her again. There was no easy tossing and turning on the flimsy mattress. Steve had gotten a taste of her and he could not stop thinking about it. She had smiled for him as his wild nature that he had shed so long ago had bubbled to the surface. He still wanted to break her bones. His ribs had healed but any overexertion made a small crackle in his chest that only he could hear. An everlasting gift from her as a reminder that she could break him too.

🔪

Harper clenched the sheets as she drew her legs up, tongue resting against her lower lip, panting in pleasure as the beautiful woman below her latched onto her clit and caressed the bundle of nerves with her soft tongue. There was a rhythm to her fingers that switched tempos without a rhyme or reason, but Harper enjoyed it just the same. There was much more physical contact these past few weeks and Harper was careful not to relish it without going overboard. The doctor was all about pleasing Harper, much less herself and Harper found that when she wished to return the favor, their playtime would stop and coldness would take over, shutting her out.

Harper’s hips dipped down into the mattress, her orgasm on the brink as her breathing turned into moaning. Fingers slipped deeper inside her, caressing her walls as she squealed, her moans transforming into soft mewls as she came down off her physical high. A warm cloth cleaned her while she was still in bliss, eyes closed as her breathing returned to normal and the small dip of the bed made her aware that now it was just her, alone in the room. Though she knew she shouldn’t have felt it, Harper’s heart still tugged at the fact she wanted more. An emotional connection that she knew she could never have but her heart still wanted it regardless.

Sleep overtook her and she curled up on her side, leaving a space next to her in case she wanted to sleep. Careful eyes kept watch on her while she slept before slipping away in the darkness.

🔪

Tony paced around his office, his hand over his chin while he pondered his next move. The doctor sitting in the chair had given him much to think about. File upon file of Steve’s transgressions and his newest assault that had garnered much media attention was hard to ignore. Tony had mourned him once and it now appeared he was going through it again. That type of pain was resolved for the dead, ones who would never return but always be burned in memory, ready to force one to relive a painful past that should have been forgotten.

This pain was worse. A man who could turn his life around simply didn’t want to. Perhaps that hurt most of all. The choice was his and his alone and he’d picked the wrong side after fighting for against it for decades.

“That’s the safest place for him,” Tony argued. “How much more money do they need?”

“Mr. Stark, this isn’t about it being the safest place for him. This is about treatment. An injured animal in a gilded cage is still injured.”

She had a point although Tony did not want to concede.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“My offer is still on the table. A smaller facility where he can get the treatment that he needs. How many more people need to die in that prison before you realize that they are the cause of his symptoms? Rumlow, Sitwell… the list goes on. He’s a celebrity behind glass and those who are around him will treat him as such before he realizes what they are trying to do. They are disposable to him, Mr. Stark. The prison is paying out millions in lawsuits. Your money would practically be burning for nothing. You have powerful friends, Mr. Stark. Use them and save your friend.”

“Why do you want to help him? After what he did to you?”

She nodded slowly, acknowledging his comment.

“I am still healing from my trauma,” she agreed. “But I am survivor, Mr. Stark. Mr. Rogers cannot break me or make me want to stop helping him. Perhaps that is why I feel a deeper need to help him.”

“If I do this, will he be allowed to have visitors?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at his question. Visitors could be arranged but there would need to be protocols and that were not yet addressed.

“I’m certain we could come to an understanding. Visitation may help him. We won’t know until we can treat him. I cannot do that without your help. Let the prison move past his violence and let him finally heal.”

“Okay. I’ll make some calls. Thank you Doctor,” Tony said, stretching out his hand. “I know this isn’t easy for you at all but I appreciate everything you’ve done. Steve is… he’s still my friend and I care.”

She accepted his hand, shaking it firmly as she gave him a small smile. It gave Tony hope that he was doing the right thing.

“Of course, Mr. Stark. I’ll wait for your call. Thank you for seeing me today.”


	14. Nitimur in vetitum

Steve was walked down the long corridor and into the room where it had started. There was no doctor to confront about what had transpired between them, no sharing knowing glances like he had envisioned. Instead, he looked into a face he’d not seen for a long time. The chains rattled as he sat, waiting for the inevitable.

“Steve,” Tony acknowledged with a dip of his chin. “Been a long time.”

“Tony.”

Tony placed his trembling hands on the table, clasping his hands together. The orange jumpsuit was jarring, even though he had expected it. Tony could not help but inspect his handiwork. The chains and cuffs were vibranium. Custom made. He’d perfected the ratios for comfort around the joints, a feature that if Steve had caught onto, he would have been able to slip out of months ago. But the man sitting in front of him seemed to have no reason to leave. If Tony didn’t know any better, Steve looked happy.

“I figured it would be better to hear from me. I'm sure under better pretenses this would not be as much as a shock. Effective tomorrow morning, you’ll be moving to a new facility. It will be better equipped to get you the best treatment.”

Steve tilted his head at Tony’s remark. His so-called treatment had been stopped weeks after he had arrived. The revolving door of doctors and therapists were there to study him, not treat him. To make him a blurb in a psychology text as a cautionary tale.

“I’ve been off treatment for over a year.”

“We’re going to try again. Get you better.”

“I am better,” Steve assured. “My mind is clearer than it has been in years.”

“No," Tony argued. “This isn’t you, Steve. Let me help you, goddamn it. The facility is brand new, state of the art technology and your doctor has assured me that she will oversee your care personally. We can’t ask for much more than that.”

Steve offered a polite smile to Tony. Even in his absence, Tony was still trying to do what was right. In fact, he'd given Steve a gift.

“I appreciate the help.”

“But…” Tony trailed off, a look of worry lodged in his eyes. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Steve held up his hands in a sign of peace, the chains clinking against the table.

“No buts. I trust you, Tony. If you say it's worth it, I'll go without a single word.”

“There’s a lot that can be placed on the table. Visitation is being tossed around… we just need you to get better. I don’t know what that looks like but I want you to try. For all of us.”

"I'm sure I'll try."

🔪

His cell was much more like a bedroom, a bathroom connecting to the space. The heavy steel door was painted a stark white among the gray painted walls. A bookcase housed an astonishing collection, some of them first editions. Steve reached for the light switch, flicking it down as he was shrouded in darkness. That small act gave him an ounce of control.

The door opened while Steve flipped through a book. The tap of heels got his attention.

Holding a clipboard in her hand with a massive guard behind her, she watched him intently. He noticed she had kept the heels he had bought her. Gone were the store bought pant suits, replaced with a skirt and a blouse under her lab coat. 

"Doctor," Steve acknowledged, placing the book back in the bookcase.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rogers. I see you are getting acquainted with your surroundings."

"I am," he answered, sitting down on the bed. "Much more luxury than I am used to."

"You'll find that there is more freedom allowed in this new facility. Lower patient to doctor ratio. More personalized attention."

She dismissed the guard with a nod. The bruises that had marred her neck were fading. Steve had noticed that first. It appeared he'd given her a gift as well. She glanced at her clipboard for a moment.

"How are your ribs? Any discomfort?"

"Fine," Steve replied with a polite smile. "I've healed nicely."

"I'm sure Mr. Barnes would be happy to hear that news."

Steve's eyes snapped up to hers.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Rogers?"

"Why is he here?"

She walked over to the bookcase, sliding a wayward book back into it's place so it was flush with the others.

"Mr. Barnes has deep seated issues that continually need to be addressed. He was near death when we found him. You could be a little more grateful, Mr. Rogers. We saved him from self-destruction. He's been responding very well to treatment."

"What treatment would that be?" Steve asked. "More mind control?"

She clicked her tongue with a shake of her head, placing her clipboard at her side while she headed back to the open door.

"Strenuous physical stimulation. When enough blood gets to the extremities, one can find clarity with movement. I'm sure you would agree, Mr. Rogers," she answered, amusement tinged in her voice. "Your dinner will be delivered at five. We'll start back with our discussion tomorrow."

She closed the door behind her, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.


	15. Sic gorgiamus allos subjectatos nunc

Curiosity kept Steve awake at night.

He’d switched the lights out earlier than usual. The freedom of deciding when he wanted to lie in darkness rather than have it decided for him was strangely satisfying.

In the dark, he revisited his time with the doctor, hand working over his cock while he remembered the curves of her body, the small breaths that escaped her lips when he had showed her no mercy, her cunt squeezing him endlessly. He would never admit that she broke him. To him, he’d shown a sign of weakness that he had not shown for decades. The price was high to allow himself to feel something. They were in the same vein of darkness, a bond stronger than blood.

🔪

Steve settled back in a chair, looking over the desk at the doctor while she wrote in her notebook. She finished up her notes before she lifted her head to acknowledge him after some time had passed. An afterthought.

“I hope your stay has been comfortable. You've been a model citizen.”

“Never bite that feeds,” Steve replied with a smile, eyeing her wrist. “New tattoo?”

She gave a nod of acknowledgement. No further explanation.

"I thought today I would give you a break. A free session to express opinions, if you will.”

She folded her hands on the table, waiting for Steve to answer her offer. Steve nodded with interest.

“Why made you move me here?"

“After your break out, the only solution left was execution. Even heroes have a shelf life. Yours ran out a year ago. Consider this preservation, Mr. Rogers.”

“You told the police what I did.” It was framed as an accusation, a fracture of unspoken trust between them.

She relaxed her shoulders into the chair, her gaze focused squarely on him.

“Did I? How are you so sure?"

"My little detour wouldn't cause a hard right into a new sentence. Not without some persuasion."

"Purely conjecture. I chose a vow of silence."

"You could have said something."

She cocked her head to the side. Curiosity glinted in her eyes.

"To save your life? Your life, Mr Rogers, is in my capable hands. I chose to do with it what I will. You've given me that gift."

Steve could not keep the surprise out of his voice.

"A gift."

"Of course. You've awakened something in me that I thought I lost so long ago. A faint calling but as our sessions grew, the calling got louder. Inspired action, if you will."

"Such as?"

“Repaying the officers kindness, of course. I did happen to see the bruises on your back and your chest.”

She held up her wrist, the two tally marks still raw on her skin. Ten.

“I enjoy justice,” she continued with a shrug of her shoulders. “Your associate should also be so lucky that I have shown him mercy.”

Her gaze was filled with amusement as Steve flexed his muscles, his jaw tightening.

“Where is he?”

“Alive and well,” she confirmed with a sigh. “I take what I want from him. We have an agreement.”

“What agreement?”

“I simply sought to coax out in him what I saw as his true nature. A soul with more black marks than I have on myself. A kindred soul.”

A wave of jealousy went through him. The thought of her with anyone else made his blood boil. She stacked her notebook over the files on her desk. Unbothered by his possessive stare, she continued on.

"What are you doing to him?"

"Standard testing, I assure you. He believes he still disappoints you. That you're even worthy to be thought of as someone to disappoint is a noble thought. He places you on a pedestal. Even now, when his strength matches yours."

Steve crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing as she spoke.

"I've known you to be unfeeling, Doctor. Never cruel."

"I didn't have to save his life, Mr. Rogers. I could have been content with him bleeding out in some abandoned garage where we found him. I saved him because it was the right thing to do. I like to even playing fields. That's what true justice is. Why else do you think I made examples out of those lawmen? They didn't know I had relished the moment because they were too occupied with doling out their own brand of justice."

At the mention of her confession, Steve tilted his head back.

"Your bruises are healing," Steve pointed out. "Nicely from where I'm sitting. Perhaps I should have applied more pressure."

"There's so much more you could have done, Mr. Rogers."

Steve acknowledged her with a smile.

"I have all the time in the world."

"That is true. If you'd prefer to enjoy a last meal, let me know. All it takes is a phone call."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Not before I get through all the books you've given me."

She glanced at her clock and then back to him, inhaling deeply as she stood up from her chair.

"Thank you for this riveting discussion. I'll have the officer escort you back."

Steve still sat in his chair, watching the door.

"You could escort me back yourself. I believe I've proven myself to be a model citizen."

She pressed a button on her desk before she answered him.

"I'm not quite sure that would be safe."

"For who?"

Her voice was low but loud enough for him to hear as the officer entered, unaware of their conversation.

"You. Have a good night, Mr. Rogers."


	16. Fui quod es, eris quod sum

When he turned off the lights, his thoughts went to Bucky. Arguably his most loyal friend and confidante, Bucky never faltered in his support. Long suffering and patient, he was the only one Steve could count on.

He couldn't have known what she was capable of.

In the darkness, surrounded by quiet, he heard the low voices, the sound of metal hitting flesh.

And then absolute silence.

Steve's hand slipped under his pillow, his fingers making contact with the key he'd lifted from the officer who had escorted him back to his room. Minutes dragged on, feeling like eternity until he felt confident to move from his bed and to the solid metal door, where he pounded it with heavy fists, hearing quick footsteps and the jingling of keys.

"What is it Rogers?" the voice on the other side demanded.

"I'm bleeding," Steve panted. "Cut myself. Can you bring me a towel?"

"I'll call the nurse."

"No need, Officer Perkins. If you would be so kind to bring me a towel to clean up my arm, I would be grateful."

The man on the other side was not convinced.

"How bad is the cut? I'll get the nurse."

"I assure you it doesn't require you to bother the nurse. I'll be happy to wait right here. A towel, if you can, Officer Perkins."

A loud curse and the jingling of keys fading with every step confirmed what Steve needed to know. He hid the key in the waistband of his khaki pants, flipping over the elastic band twice to make sure it was secure.

The door opened and Officer Perkins peered into the dark room, shining his flashlight before he switched on the light. On the bed, Steve sat, cradling his arm while the guard placed the towel on the small table.

"I'm a little dizzy, Officer Perkins. Is there any way you could be so kind as to hand the towel to me? I'd get up if I could but I'm still lightheaded."

The officer took a step closer, clutching the towel in his hand while he took another step closer.

"No funny business, Rogers," he warned, tossing the towel to him.

It landed on Steve's lap. His eyes darkened at the officer as he took it.

"It's rude to throw things," Steve chastised, shaking his head. "But I appreciate the towel."

The officer turned his back on Steve, not hearing his footsteps behind him.

The neck break was clean, the officer guided down to the ground by Steve, who stepped over him and continued down the hallway.

🔪

It didn't take long to find Bucky. Through the small window, a man was held up in the air, his hands around Bucky's metal arm while he struggled to breathe, his legs kicking out from under him until he tossed him against him the wall. As Steve watched Bucky's fist pummel into his chest, he recognized the man, one of the few board members from the prison who had advocated for his execution.

This had to be her handiwork.

This was second nature, the throwback to Siberia, the raw punches and deadly accuracy. Almost mesmerizing to watch. Any goodwill of who Steve used to be, to run in and assist the poor soul, had been long lost. Now he watched as metal fingers clamped down on a windpipe, crushing it slowly, a satisfied smile appearing on Bucky's face. Steel blue eyes snapped to the intruder at the window, registering that he knew the person who had been observing behind the thick glass. Bucky got to his feet in one fluid motion as the door swung open.

"Where is she?" Steve growled.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow and raised an eyebrow.

"How would I know?"

Steve slammed his fist against the wall as the alarm sounded. He had a sinking feeling she was still somewhere in the facility, even as the lights flashed and the high pitched whine confirmed someone had seen the dead officer.

"You're sweet on her," Bucky said with a mirthless laugh, shaking his head. "I knew it."

"What about it?" Steve icily replied.

"I thought I was messed up in the head. I think she rivals me. Maybe more." Bucky strode out of the cell, slamming a metal fist into a face, the body crumpling to the floor as he looked back at Steve.

"She's not in the cell, Steve," he called out after he turned back around. "Stay inside there and fight if you want but I'm getting the hell out of here."

Steve watched the cameras in the corners of the hallways, knowing he was being recorded as he passed another cell, a man banging on the window as he pleaded to be let out. He'd already freed the one person he'd come for and now he was a man on a mission to find where she was hiding. Or rather, where she was watching as he knew she was never one to hide from anything.

At this thought, he turned on his heels, taking out three guards within a matter of moments before he headed toward her office.

The door knob turned and there she sat, heels over the desk while she watched the monitors, her head slowly turning in his direction. He had at least thought that the door would be locked.

"May I help you?" Still unfeeling, not the least bit surprised that he was free.

At this moment, he could strangle her, leave her slumped over the desk and when they found her, he would be long gone.

He slammed the door, locking it behind him.

"If this is an intimidation tactic, Mr. Rogers, I'm afraid I lost all sense of fear years ago."

"What did you do to him?"

She continued to watch the monitors, a slow smile spreading on her face as Bucky felled another officer.

"I told you. Kindred spirits. He's assisting me with a little clean up. On his own assistance, I may add."

"What are you talking about?"

"Who do you think works here? Your little friends from the other facility. My own enemies. Officer Perkins, who I assume is still slumped over in your cell, was not fond of me when I took his facility. So horribly misogynistic." She got up from her chair slowly, taking off her blazer and revealing her tattooed arms. "But I didn't assume you'd actually _kill_ him. I can't have you thinking you can operate in such a way."

There was a click of a light and they were drowned in pitch black.

A swift hit - or a kick, he was not aware - connected to his gut and he doubled over before he was toppled to the ground, his eyes adjusting to the darkness while his head throbbed at the impact.

She was on him in seconds.

“You take from me, I take from you,” she reasoned, knife pressed against his neck. "And I will always take from you."

Her fingers reached between them, pulling down the waistband of his pants, his cock springing free. He strained against her, feeling her knees dig into his wrists. Her hand gripped his cock, her thumb brushing against the head, precum already beading at the surface. She smeared it slowly, the knife still at his throat.

"Did you think you were getting out of here? It's a lockdown." Her voice was filled with amusement, her fingers sliding up and down his length. "Which I've already called as a false alarm. Bucky will get his fill for the moment."

He moved underneath her and she pressed the blade with more pressure, blood appearing at the small cut.

"Did you fuck him?" Steve ground out the question as she settled against him, his cock against the seam of her cunt.

"He needs human contact, not a hole to fuck. For two people who are so alike, you differ in your tastes."

She lifted her hips, sinking down on him as he grunted loudly, his hands sliding out from under her to grip her thighs.

"You're much smarter than I give you credit for. So noble, freeing Bucky. But it was for your selfish reasons, wasn't it?"

Steve struggled to get up, the knife still at his throat, threatening to go deeper with every dip of her hips. There was no denying she was in control, his eyes closing while her walls squeezed him tight with every movement.

"If that's what you want, I'll let him go," she promised, her movements faster, his cock buried to the hilt of her. "He'll be alone all over again."

Steve couldn't think, close to coming and trying to focus. There was another twist of the blade on his skin and he hissed as both her hands wrapped around his throat right as he came, cum spilling into her while she slowed her movements, her cunt still clamping down on him.

"Or maybe you could join him. I could make it a game. Hunt both of you down."

Dark spots faded to black as he descended into darkness.

🔪

When he came to, the door was wide open and it was silent. Steve pulled himself up, rubbing his temples while he heard heavy footsteps approaching. Bucky turned on the light and frowned, looking at Steve. He'd never seen that look in Steve's eyes before and it unnerved him. Like a trapped animal with nowhere to go before he snapped out of it.

"You coming or what? The door opened, I'm getting the hell out of here."

Steve shook out of his stupor while he followed Bucky out of the facility. Sirens were distant but increasing as the pair ran toward the parking lot. Bucky held a pair of keys in his hand, still smudged with what Steve knew was blood. Once the lights and the horn of a car honked, they headed toward it, Bucky tossing Steve the keys as he slid into the passenger seat.

"Where did she go?" Bucky asked, once they were on the road.

"No clue."

Where they were going, Steve had no idea. Maybe he'd call Natasha once they stopped somewhere. He'd let his guard down enough that she had almost killed him. He wondered where she was, if she was close. She'd gotten under his skin and he allowed her to take from him. A shiver managed to make its way through his spine while he drove into the night that seemed unnatural. 

His stomach turned at the thought of what he knew what the feeling was.

Fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm leaving it open ended for now but thank you to everyone who took the time to read this fic!


End file.
